


Prompted

by arctickchild



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: fic prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7197155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arctickchild/pseuds/arctickchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every life leaves echoes, stories that unravel and reform and create themselves anew when need be. They aren't always happy, aren't always whole; but they linger still, and sometimes, if you listen closely enough, you can find them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stolen

**Author's Note:**

> occasionally people will prompt me to write things on tumblr (and you can to, arctick-child.tumblr.com), and occasionally i will drag myself up to fill those prompts. these are the prompts i receive for kotor2, and there will be a few of them now that i got Dick into the series.

“General.”

Surik’s fingers ache from her grip on the workbench, knuckles white and tearing against her skin.

“I know,” she says, and she does. She doesn’t like it, doesn’t want it, but she knows what he’s asking of her and she knows it’s the only way. “You’re on your own.”

A pause. “I know,” he echoes, and she hates it, hates him parroting her words back at her, hates that they both know what he’s saying. “It’s been an honor serving with you again, General.”

Surik spins around, mechanical fingers tangling in his shirt and dragging him forward before her mind catches up with the impulse. His lips are warm and dry, both hearts a steady beat beneath her fingers, and she hates herself for this; she hates herself for taking this when they both know what happens next, for turning what could have been a victory into a loss, but she is weak and he is leaving without her, and a part of her knows, has always known, that there would be no other end to this story.

_You are a cipher -_

And he has always been her greatest source of strength.

Surik pulls back, presses into the workbench so it digs into her skin, burrows against her bones.

“Don’t engage her,” she orders, but they both know he will. Bao-Dur is still off balance, still stumbling from the kiss, but he nods, shakes his head, closes his eyes - briefly - and raises them to meet hers.

“Fight well,” he says, and with a small smile, “You know what needs to be done, Sol.”

No one has called her that since Malachor, since Kieran pressed her lightsaber into her one good hand and told her to live well, and it feels as much a void now as it did then.

_I don’t want to_ , the words beating in time with her heart. _Stay with me_ , biting into her teeth. _I love you. Don’t go._

She says none of it. She has stolen enough from him.

“Go.” The word is bile against her tongue, acid eating through her veins. “Do what you want.”

He reaches out, runs a thumb across her jaw, doesn’t try to hide the pang of grief through their heart beats, through the bond she buried as deep into her soul as she could.

“Don’t let Atton crash the ship,” he advises, and he’s gone in the time it takes for her humorless chuckle to tear through her throat.


	2. Dreaming

Gentle fingers stroke her hair.

Surik shifts, turning into the touch. Coarse cloth scratches against her neck, familiar and soothing; she can hear the inquisitive trills of a remote somewhere above her, almost inaudible over the rustle of sheets and the soft melody of slow breathing and her own heart beat.

She isn’t sure how she got here; she was working on something, she thinks. Mical needed help with something. The fingers in her hair falter, and she makes a small noise of protest, wrapping her arms around her cushion’s waist.

“General.” The word is soft and warm, calloused fingers coming to rest against her cheek. “Sleep.”

Surik hums. “Can’t,” she says. “Workin’.”

He goes back to stroking her hair. It feels nice. This is, she decides, a pretty damn nice dream.

“Two minutes,” she counters, and nuzzles into his knee. “Then. Work.”

His thumb brushes back and forth along her cheekbone. “Of course, General,” he agrees. “Get some sleep.”

_I am asleep_ , she thinks, and is gone before she can remind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous prompted: Bao/Exile, K: on the edge of consciousness
> 
> i think we can all agree a little fluff is exactly what we need in our lives rn

**Author's Note:**

> anonymous prompted: Bao/Exile, L: a stolen kiss


End file.
